


Doing Dishes

by lymricks



Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lymricks/pseuds/lymricks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve does dishes. This perplexes Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doing Dishes

The thing is, Steve doesn’t have to do the dishes. Tony is the kind of wealthy where people exist who do that for him. Except, it’s Tony, so he actually has robots who do that for him—which, really. Details.

But every Sunday morning, as long as the world isn’t ending, or people aren’t dying, or there isn’t a kitten stuck in the tree (“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Clint says the first time Coulson shows up and tells them they have to go save a kitten. Coulson gives him a look that, for being completely expressionless, speaks volumes), Tony comes into the kitchen and Steve is sitting there, doing dishes.

It’s weird and it almost makes Tony uncomfortable, and he actually feels sort of bad for the robots, which sit on the counter and look (as much as robots can, anyway) completely baffled as to what they should be doing with their non-lives now that somebody else is doing the dishes.

Tony doesn’t get it, not even a little bit, because he always has something better and more important to do than dishes. Even Pepper hadn’t done dishes, and she believes firmly in keeping a sense of normality in Tony’s life. He’d suggested it once, when he was drunk and angry at nothing, and she’d given him a look that was more sobering than anything else. Ever. He has nightmares about it sometimes.

Steve seems to like it though. Tony teases him about it, and when that doesn’t stop him, Tony says that Steve is making his robots feel useless, and could he stop that, please?

The Sunday after that particular conversation, Tony peers around the corner into the kitchen, and Steve is talking to the robots, which, ok, Tony does a lot. But this is Steve. This is Captain America and he’s talking to _robots_?

“Could you pass me a towel, please?” Steve says to the robot on his left, the stupid thing actually _does_ pass him a towel, and ok, Tony designed those robots, and Dummy is one of their robotic-siblings, and Dummy almost never does what Tony wants him to do.

~

Tony, because he is a researcher at heart, begins to research why people do the dishes. He doesn’t have any first hand experience with it, so he can’t use his own testimony for reasons dishes should be done. Luckily, he has a team of superheroes and also a personal-assistant-turned CEO and several members of the military who he can question.

He asks Natasha first, and she doesn’t even dignify him with an answer. She just rolls her eyes at him, which is actually an impressive display of emotion coming from her, so he feels a lot like he’s made a breakthrough in their relationship. If nothing else, Tony gets to feel accomplished about that fact, and so he moves on to his next subject.

Rhodey gives him some spiel about responsibility and families that doesn’t make any sense at all to Tony, but probably makes a lot of sense to normal people. Tony is not a normal person, so the fact that he doesn’t get it doesn’t concern him.

Bruce says that dishes are just one of those things that need to get done, which is weird, but makes a lot of sense logically, so Tony makes note of that one. He’s a little discouraged that only one-third of his interviews so far have produced results that are useable, but that’s all right, he doesn’t let it stop him.

Clint says he doesn’t do dishes, but if he did it would be because scary things were growing in the sink and somebody would have to do them. That actually makes a lot of sense too, but sounds similar to Bruce’s answer, so Tony just makes a note that Clint said the same thing with better adjectives.

He asks Pepper about doing dishes again, and she levels him with the same terrifying look, and Tony begins to wonder if she is actually a superhero too, and her power is to turn people to stone with her eyes. Or at least give them a heart-attack, because seriously, it’s fucking scary.

Thor just looks at him blankly.

He asks Coulson, who apparently uses washing the dishes as a method for discovering new and better ways to kill people with dishes, which is when Tony gives up on his research.

It becomes a Sunday morning thing, for Steve to be doing dishes, and Tony to sit around the corner, spying on him via a security feed. It’s relaxing, and strangely comforting, and Tony never has to touch a dirty dish, but it still perplexes him as he watches Steve talk to the robots and look out the window while he scrubs last night’s dinner plates clean.

Tony gets used to it, though.

~

The Avengers have a lot of good days, and then they have a really bad day. It’s supposed to be an easy mission, some punk scientists threatening to blow things up. Tony gets a good look at their bombs and he knows that they won’t actually work. The plan is to go in and scare the kids a little, but it’s a trap, and Tony should have known.

The kids call the building their “Lair,” which everyone gets a good laugh out of. In the corner, large and glowing an iridescent purple, is something Tony has never seen before. He’s curious, approaches it cautiously, and suddenly they’re all under attack. He doesn’t know where the bots came from, or who made them, but he has only a moment to be impressed before the purple thing makes a weird, whirring sound, and the suit beeps a warning into Tony’s ear. Suddenly, Tony is unable to fly, to move, to do more than live, and even that is getting iffy.

The machine leaves him gasping on the floor of some shady basement, unable to do much besides lying in the suit and sweating. He can watch though, and even as he’s coming dangerously close to passing out (Jarvis sounds nervous in his ears) he’s proud of his team, of these Avengers, and the way they do things. He’s proud, even of Clint, as they take the asshole kids down.

As his vision fades, he sees Steve walk up to the purple thing that’s trying to kill Tony. Tony wants to tell him how to disable it, which wires to cut, because he’s Tony and he knows these things, but he can’t find the breath or the words to say it, and everything is fuzzy black spots. Steve just punches it. Again, and again, and again. Sparks fly everywhere, and something catches fire, and then someone is screaming to get him out of the suit. The last thing Tony remembers clearly is warm arms under his body and sunlight in blond hair.

~

Tony wakes up in his bed, wrapped in bandages, but he’s alive and that’s good news.

“Good to see you awake, sir,” Jarvis says after telling Tony the weather.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Tony rasps out. He feels just as dragged raw as his voice sounds.

He takes a moment to gather himself and assess his ability to move. He feels like shit, but getting out of bed isn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be, and when he’s standing up, his head feels a little bit clearer. He grabs the nearest pieces of clothing he can find, relieved when both pants and shirt are soft and warm, and pads barefoot down to the kitchen to see if anyone is around.

He hears running water, and Steve’s voice. Tony panics.

“Jarvis!” he hisses, “Have I been out for six days?”

“No, sir,” Jarvis sounds irritated, “As I told you ten minutes and forty-nine seconds ago, today is Tuesday. You were asleep for less than fifteen hours and have recovered well, considering your—”

“Thanks,” Tony cuts him off.

He throws open the doors to the kitchen, which takes a lot of effort, so the effect is somewhat ruined when he has to slump against the fridge to stay completely upright.

“What are you doing?” he asks, glaring at Steve’s shoulders, which have stiffened.

Steve doesn’t turn around. He takes his time as he finishes scrubbing the plate clean. He hands it off to his favorite dish robot (Steve hasn’t said that, but Tony knows he talks to that one the most, so that’s what he calls it in his head). “You should be in bed,” Steve says instead of an answer.

“It’s Tuesday,” Tony snaps, “You don’t do dishes on Tuesdays. You do dishes on Sundays, for two hours. I don’t even know where we get that many dishes.”

Steve turns around then. “How do you know that?” he asks lowly, and his eyes are dark and intense and Tony wants, very much, to drown in them.

“It’s my house,” Tony reminds him, voice as haughty as it can possibly get when he sounds like a frog with lung cancer.

Steve snorts, which Tony wants to point out if very un-Captain America of him. “Does that give you the right to spy on everyone in it?”

“Yes actually. Hey, guess what Nat and Clint were doing—”

“Excuse me?”

Tony spins around, puts his hands up. “Hi, Nat, uh. Hi,” he says eloquently.

Natasha smiles at him, which is terrifying. “Would you like to know how many ways I can kill you with,” she looks around the kitchen and picks up an empty carton of milk, “This?”

“Not really, no.”

“I suggest you remove your cameras from my bedroom, then,” she says, and smiles again.

“Did you hear that, Jarvis?” Tony asks, because he’s a good, generous guy, obviously. “Cut the feed from Natasha’s room, please.”

“The feed has been cut, sir.”

Natasha nods once, and then leaves just as silently as she came in. Tony is _watching_ her go and still doesn’t actually see her leave. She’s a ninja. He’s sure of it.

Tony turns back to Steve, who is looking at him, and they both start laughing. “Hey Steve,” Tony says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna show me how to do the dishes?”

It’s one of the most pleasant hours of Tony’s life, standing next to Steve in front of the window, their shoulders and hips bumping, hands brushing. Tony doesn’t actually do many dishes, and after an hour, he’s starting to feel weak and a little dizzy. He doesn’t say anything, resolutely keeps adjusting the water temperature.

Steve’s hand covers his suddenly, warmer than the faucet. “Tony,” he says, “Your hand is shaking.”

And Tony says, “I know.”

Steve turns him around, and wet soapy hands and all, he holds Tony’s face, makes Tony’s eyes meet his. “I wash dishes because it’s normal,” Steve says. “Even with your robots, it’s normal. I used to hate doing them in Brooklyn.” Steve swallows hard, and Tony doesn’t—can’t—look away. “But that’s gone now,” Steve continues, “And so’s everything that came with it, and it surprises me, how much I miss Bucky dumping glasses of water over my head and snapping me with towels. Dishes feel normal, Tony. I need something normal.”

And Tony, Tony has never been good at normal, or feelings, so he says, “My hands are still shaking,” and feels like an ass, because he’s made this about him. Again.

“You scared me back there,” Steve replies, dropping his hands from Tony’s face to his shoulders. Tony is surprised by how warm and big they are, how safe he feels. “I thought we were going to lose you for a second.”

“Yeah well, I’m pretty hard to kill,” Tony jokes.

“You’re just about the only normal thing I have left besides doing dishes,” Steve answers, and Tony’s stomach tightens in a way that scares him. A lot. Because he isn’t normal, and he can’t be something Steve has, because Tony? Tony can’t do people.

He opens his mouth to tell Steve all of this, but then he can’t, because Steve’s lips press against his, and he’s still holding Tony’s shoulders, only tighter now, enough to leave bruises that Tony will look at tomorrow and love, but that’s tomorrow, and for now, just for now, Tony lets himself fall against Steve’s chest and be kissed. Tony falls against Steve’s chest, and slides a hand through Steve’s hair, and he kisses back.

Tony lets himself be normal.


End file.
